Verge of Extinction (Apex Predator Book 3) (20 page)

Day 43

The Island

Mr. Westergart sent for SSgt Brown and the two Seabees at 0700.  When SSgt Brown arrived, someone had delivered breakfast to the mayor’s conference room.  The three servicemen sat at one end of the large table and began to eat powdered doughnuts and orange juice from individual plastic bottles.

SSgt Brown had just opened his second package of doughnuts, this time chocolate covered, when Mr. Westergart entered the room, followed by Jerry.  “Gentlemen,” he began, “our problems have just gotten worse.”  He paused for a moment.

“Last night, one of our foraging parties did not return.  I wasn’t worried at first.  As we all know, things happen out there and sometimes the dead force a change of plans.”  He paused for a moment.  “That is absolutely not what happened to Harold and his group yesterday.”

SSgt Brown knew that Harold Hanson had been part of the group Mr. Westergart had led to the Island.  He had liked Harold from the moment he had met the young ex-Coast Guardsman.  A knot suddenly formed in the pit of SSgt Brown’s stomach.  “What happened?” he asked stoically.

“Those damned bikers again,” he spat.  The men could hear the anger in his voice.  He went on to tell them that one of their men had made it to the bridge early this morning.  He had been stabbed and shot, and subsequently died.  Before he did, he told the guard at the gate that they had been attacked by a dozen men on motorcycles.

“Where were they when they were attacked?” SSgt Brown asked.  Mr. Westergart pointed to a place on the map.

“This is where they were going.  I don’t know if they made it or not.”  His finger rested on an intersection about a mile west of the church where SSgt Brown’s team had been ambushed a few days prior.  There’s no way this isn’t the same guys.

Suddenly a woman burst in the room.  Her face was covered in pure panic.  “Hurry!  They’re at the gate!”  She turned and ran out of the room.  The five men followed.

They could hear the sound of gunfire long before they reached the gate.  SSgt Brown could see the feet of the two men on top of the shipping containers that bracketed the gate.  He couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.

He and Mr. Westergart arrived behind the shipping container at the same time.  SSgt Brown was impressed at the older man’s stamina.  His lips curved up into a tiny smile for only an instant. The sound of motorcycle engines and gunshots brought his attention back to the task at hand.  It quickly became apparent that the shooters where not shooting at them.  Maybe up in the air or at something else.

SSgt Brown climbed the ladder and slid onto the cold metal.  He low crawled until he could see the shooter.  His jaw dropped in horror.  The motorcycle contained two people.  One was driving the big bike in a giant figure eight on the bridge in front of the gate.  Seated behind him was a woman.  SSgt Brown couldn’t make out her features, except that she seemed to be rather skinny, and she had light hair sticking out from under the coal scuttle helmet she wore.

The woman had both hands raised above her head.  In one hand, she held a large semi-automatic pistol.  Every few seconds, she’d fire two or three rounds into the air.  In the other hand, she held a severed head by the hair.

“Son of a bitch,” Mr. Westergart exclaimed quietly.  SSgt Brown hadn’t even realized the older man had slid next to him.  “That’s Harold Hanson.”  The pit in SSgt Brown’s stomach grew even larger.  He turned his head to the guard lying prone next to him.

“Is this all they’ve done for the last ten minutes is drive in a circle?”

The man shook his head.  “No.  They’ve been yelling something about trespassing on their turf or some shit. Hell, the chick sounds like she’s high on something.”

“Do you see anyone else out there, or is it just these two?”

The man pointed toward the end of the bridge.  When SSgt Brown saw what the man was pointing at, his despair deepened.  There, parked just off the opposite end of the bridge, on the road leading into the port facility were at least twenty motorcycles.  He could count ten rifles pointing toward them from 300 yards away.

“Looks like about a dozen at the end of the bridge,” Mr. Westergart whispered.  “You think any of them can hit anything from that range?”

“Probably not,” SSgt Brown answered worriedly.  “It’s not the one aimed at me that scares me.  It’s the ones that are addressed ‘to whom it may concern.’”  The two soldiers chuckled at the old soldier’s joke.  “There are, however, too many bikes.”

Mr. Westergart looked confused.  “There’s a good twenty or so bikes over there.”  He pointed.  “But, I only count a dozen bad guys.  Where’s the rest of ‘em?” The woman on the bike fired a single shot into the air.

On the next pass, the bike came to a stop 25 meters from the front gate.  She climbed off, shoving her pistol into a drop holster.  She held the severed head high into the air.

“Who’s in charge?”  Her voice was deeper than it should have been, older too.  She sounded like an old smoker.  Something isn’t right here, SSgt Brown thought.  He said as much to Mr. Westergart.

“I know.  This is all wrong.  You and the swab-jockeys get back to the Island.  Get the defenses manned.  Get one of the trucks to block the bridge and get a machinegun team on it.  Get
Enterprise
and
Sea Witch
cast off and crewed; Captain and three armed crewmen per boat.”  He looked around.  The woman was yelling for the person in charge again.  “These guys are trying something sneaky.  You guys find them and take care of it.  Don’t negotiate.  You find them; you kill ‘em.”

He stood up, his rifle held loosely in his right hand.  “I’m in charge here.  Who wants to know?”

The woman stared at the old soldier.  He realized from her facial expression that he did not look nearly as intimidating as he did twenty years ago.  He willed himself to somehow look tougher than he did.

“What’s your name, boy?”  She emphasized the last word.  He noticed it, but it didn’t bother him.  He’d been called all sorts of racial slurs during his time in the Army.  And, that was by people who wore the same uniform as he.  This woman meant nothing to him and her attempt at an insult fell well short.

“Terrance,” he answered in a calm voice.  “Who are you young lady?”

“Don’t worry about who I am Terrance,” she said with disdain.  “I’m the woman who is going to be responsible for saving your life.”  She paused for a long second.  “Or, I’m the woman who will be responsible for your death.”  She raised the disembodied head again.

“Do you mind if I ask you what happened to Harold?”  His voice remained calm.  He concentrated on breathing deep.  He didn’t want anyone to know this bothered him in the least.

“Oh, you mean this fuck?”  She tossed the head towards the gate.  It landed several yards short and rolled several times before coming to a stop.  Harold’s eyes started lifelessly up at the trio of survivors who had recently been his friends.  “He was found trespassing.  So, he was…um…punished.  He and his friends were punished.”

She raised her voice in an attempt to be heard on the Island itself.  “Just like you all will be punished.”  Her voice returned to normal.  “You and your people will leave this Island.  You will leave your weapons, vehicles, supplies…”  The woman looked to the man next to her.

For the first time, Mr. Westergart looked closely at the man.  He was tall and very broad at the shoulders.  His waist was by no means thin.  His beard was scruffy and may have had a few grey hairs, but not many.  He wore  jeans and a tee-shirt.  His vest was denim and covered with small patches that were indistinguishable to Mr. Westergart from that distance.  His face had a maniacal grin that showed too many teeth.  He was shaking his head.

“How many women do you have on our Island?”

Mr. Westergart’s stomach sank at the question.  He’d known these people were bad people.  He had hoped they were just trying to carve out their own territory in this new world.  Those people could be reasoned with.  This just changed the game.  These people aren’t competing for resources.

Without another word, he raised his rifle and fired two quick shots.  Both the woman and the big man fell to the ground.  The man writhed in pain and howled for his friends. The woman lay motionless.  A pool of blood spread rapidly from under her back.

Bullets began to buzz around Mr. Westergart’s ears.  The people from the other end of the bridge were shooting.  Just as he thought, they were too far away to do much harm.  He assumed a good prone firing position and waited.  He’d dealt with untrained “warriors” before.  He knew what they would do next.

SSgt Brown and the two sailors had just reached the Island when he heard Mr. Westergart’s shots.  They were met by Jackson, Kerry, Bamma, Sgt Procell, Sam, Jen, and Indira.  He barked out a few quick orders to each of them.  Then he spun on his heels.  Jackson, Kerry, and Sgt Procell followed him to the
Sea Witch
.

He’d already decided that there were only two ways onto the Island, by sea or across the bridge.  The bridge did have a small walkway on the left that was protected by concrete barriers on both sides.  It would cover an attacking force from fire from the road bridge, but would act like a long, straight, and narrow channel.  A guy with a pistol could hold the walking bridge.

The second avenue would be by sea.  It was about three or four hundred yards from the mainland to the northern tip of the Island.  Several days ago, he’d placed one of the shipping containers, turned bunker near that point.  He was sure that even now it was being manned by several of the men of the Island.

That left a boat as the only way onto the Island.  He intended to take
Sea Witch
and
Enterprise
around the Island and intercept any boats trying to make the shoreline.

The two boats cast off. 
Sea Witch
, with Kerry at the helm, led the way.  Bamma kept his boat about fifty yards to the right and behind the
Sea Witch
.  SSgt Brown was able to coordinate the movements of both boats by way of two way radios that had been recently installed.

It occurred to SSgt Brown that he had no idea how to use boats in combat.  The only training he had with boats as a Cavalry Scout was using them to cross rivers.  He also realized that he was probably the only US Army NCO in history to command a fleet, all-be-it a small one, in combat.

He directed the boats west, under the bridge.  He then ordered Kerry to turn north to run parallel to the walking bridge.  Just as he passed the gate, his boat began taking fire from the walking bridge.  Shit!  Mr. Westergart didn’t realize he had an exposed flank.  People with guns had gotten to within 50 yards of the gate.  He ordered Kerry to come around and everyone to fire on the men on the bridge.

The sound of gunfire to his right startled Mr. Westergart.  He hadn’t realized that there was a protected footbridge running the length of the road bridge.  He slid forward just in time to see a dozen men in jeans and denim vests leap the concrete barrier.

He raised his rifle to his shoulder, took aim, and began squeezing the trigger.  The first man fell to the ground, writhing in pain from a wound to his abdomen.  Mr. Westergart didn’t have time to put him out of his misery.  He quickly acquired a new target and squeezed off a short burst.  The man fell to the ground motionless, dead from a trio of bullets driving through his chest.

Bullets suddenly began whizzing around Mr. Westergart’s head again.  The fire was so heavy that he was forced to drop back down into the prone position.  He snapped off another burst and sent another attacker sprawling to the ground.

Bullets began slamming into the metal shipping container under Mr. Westergart.  He rolled right several feet, popping up only long enough to fire off two quick shots.  Both shots flew above his target.  He swore. He’d have to relax on the next shot.

SSgt Brown saw the dozen heads rise as one and disappear onto the bridge before the
Sea Witch
was able to come about.  By the time he could bring rifles to bear, the attackers couldn’t be seen from the water.  He knew immediately what was going to happen.  There were only three people on the gate, and they were being rushed by a dozen heavily armed men from close range.

He pointed at the point where the bridge connected with the dry land of the Island.  The truck was just pulling into place.  “There!  Get me there.”  The boat slid onto the grass covered sand.  He and Jackson dismounted on the run.  Sgt Procell leapt from the bow of the boat, landing with a splash.  The older NCO turned quickly to him.

“You stay with her!” he yelled.  The younger man shook his head.

“No, you need all the guns you can get.”

“She needs a gun here with her.  Plus, you still can’t run for shit with that busted leg.  Stay on the
Witch
and keep her safe!”  He was pointing at the young redhead.  Sgt Procell looked dejected, but did as he was ordered.  The boat made a slight scraping sound as Kerry backed the bow off of the sand.

Mr. Westergart knew he was in trouble.  Both of the men with him were dead.  Their blood made the top of the shipping container slick.  He was down to his last magazine, and there were at least three men who had made it to the container.  None had scaled the metal box yet, but they were in a defilade position; meaning he would have to expose himself to shoot down on them.  Every time he fired at another attacker, the bad guys below him would fire wildly through the container.  That was how his second man had been killed.